


Stop

by MagicMage



Series: Dragon Age Fiction [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: BDSM, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Safeword Use, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 05:30:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2801318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicMage/pseuds/MagicMage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During one of their regular scenes Iron Bull pushes Eifion Lavellan past his breaking point, but he's too stubborn and doesn't want to use his safeword.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stop

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to hell, but maybe someone will come with me~

When The Iron Bull had appeared in his room one day and finally gave in to his meager attempts at flirtation, he’d never known so much what a blowjob was.

Dalish…Dalish don’t really do ‘sex before bonding’, and while other sexuality isn’t really frowned upon, it’s not paid attention to either. There’s no way to repopulate the Dales if everyone is fucking the same gender.

Now? Now he’s had so much sexual experience he wonders if he hasn’t topped those who have partaken in sexual relations and are twice his age. Bull has introduced him to things he’d never known possible, things he wouldn’t have thought of in his wildest dreams.

The Iron Bull takes control, and The Inquisitor becomes Eifion Lavellan for a few hours.

The weird thing is that some days Bull doesn’t even touch him, just asks him questions and pushes him until he’s broken and doesn’t have any more words to let out. The times when he tells The Iron Bull some of his deepest darkest secrets are almost more overwhelming than the times that he’s denied orgasm, until all he can do is beg, because he has disobeyed and needs to be reminded who’s in-charge.

Some days the Inquisition is gone, and some days it is brought into such sharp focus he’s worried his eyes will be gouged out by it. Some days Bull breaks him into tiny little pieces and then touches him, and molds him, and puts him all back together again.

He is still worried that saying _the word_ will make Bull turn around and leave. He trusts him, he wouldn’t let him do the things that he does if he didn’t, but he shies away from even thinking _the word_ for fear the Bull will hear it. Surely it seems as if he hears his thoughts sometimes, the way he reads his expression and posture like a book. Some days he is at the door before Eifion even calls for him. Even with the dragon tooth necklace around his neck at all times, sometimes so heavy he feels it will drag him down, and sometimes so light he forgets he wears it, he fears Bull will leave.

Bull is the only solid in a world which is quickly slipping out of his grasp, he needs him.

He hides from the weakness of _the word_ and wishes it would disappear into the recesses of his mind. He must endure because he is the one who must endure. No matter how much he can give Iron Bull, he cannot give him that. Even when the Inquisition doesn’t exist, it does.

Some days Bull calls him ‘whore’ and ‘slut’, and other terrible names, and pushes him physically until he breaks. Some days Bull calls him ‘kadan’ and his ‘little elf’, and breaks him with words.

Today isn’t one of the days that Bull breaks him with words.

Today is one of the days where Bull curls his fingers inside him, while gripping the base of his cock, and whispers, “Come on,” to him while he struggles against the bonds around his wrists. Today is one of the days where he cries out, his need pitching higher as Bull denies him and urges him to give in. Today is one of the days where Bull chuckles and mutters, “You little _bitch,_ you’re enjoying this,” and he whimpers in reply.

And then Bull leans in, and presses his tongue against his inner thigh. No one has ever licked him before, but he thinks strongly that Bull’s tongue is silkier than anyone else’s would be. His legs tremble. There’s _too much_ , but he doesn’t _want_ to give in.

This game, the game where Bull tortures him until he is begging for him, is entirely about him giving in, but today he _can’t_. Today he has too many secret meetings, and people whispering behind his back like they think he can’t hear them, and the dead everywhere. Too many lives on his hands, too many…

Bull adds a third finger and he thinks he’s split open, but he knows he’s nowhere near split, he knows he’s had more. “Creators…” he gasps.

Bull chuckles again. “Your gods aren’t going to save you now, _elf_.”

He tenses, at the tone of voice, at the way it’s said. He doesn’t want Bull to say what he is like he is disgusting. It’s not a name that can slide off of him, it’s everything.

He wants to tell him not to call him that, but he’s not in charge here. He could say the word, but over this? Bull has made him live through his worst nightmares over again, made him relive losing Haven, and the subsequent journey through the snow that never ended. Bull has wound him so high that he shook for several minutes afterwards, cradled in his arms and shivering as if he was cold.

People always use what he is against him, he’s heard too many people say the word ‘elf’ like it tastes bad, trying to strip him of his existence. He doesn’t want to hear the word drip from Bull’s lips either.

He clenches his teeth and looks away, ignoring the knot in his belly, ignoring that despite his arousal he’d very much like to be anywhere else.

Bull slaps his thigh, hard enough to sting, not hard enough to hurt. “Hey, look at me,” he commands. And does he ever command it. Something in the tone, the way it’s gravel and smooth at the same time, draws his eyes back to the qunari just as he curls his fingers _just so_ again.

Eyes close, back arches, he whines and whimpers as all at once the electricity and the fire is dancing across his skin again, but it’s not a rage demon’s fire burning, or a wisp’s electricity leaving him weakened and aching. It’s a part of him, it’s inside him as much as Bull’s fingers are. He wants it so badly, that he tries to roll his body into the fingers inside him, tugging against the bonds and whining in frustration when Bull wraps a hand around his waist and holds him there effortlessly.

“Please…” he gasps, futilely trying to arch his back. Anything, _anything_.

“Please what, _elf_?”

Eifion tenses, clenches his teeth again and opens his eyes. _He_ can be nothing, trash, dirty, disgusting, but what he is cannot. Every elf stands behind him, and if all of them are nothing he cannot handle it, he has nothing to turn to when he is nothing.

“Don’t call me that,” he says, voice as tense as he feels and pitched high with arousal and frustration. Why is Bull calling him this now? He’s never done so before.

“You’re not the one in charge here, _I_ am,” Bull reminds him. And he knows that, he knows well enough with Bull’s fingers inside him and around his waist and _gripping_ and the bonds around his wrists and he _wants_ Bull to be in charge but it _hurts_. He wants to be his ‘little elf’, he doesn’t want to be a disgusting worthless _creature_.

“J-Just…please don’t…” he begs, but it’s wrong for this game and Bull’s brows raise. He asks, if you need to stop then say _the word_ , and Eifion knows he asks that, but he doesn’t. He shakes his head, feels the callous on Bull’s thumb rubbing into his hip instead. “Please Bull, please fuck me.” He changes gears, and Bull seems to follow him, smirks, slaps his stomach as he tugs his fingers out roughly. He yelps, caught between pleasure and pain in a place he doesn’t recognise that it all too familiar.

“I thought I said you’re not the one in charge here,” Bull says, sitting back and looking down at him.

He squirms, toes curling in the comforter that Josephine bought him, no, not Josephine. No Josephine. There is only him and The Iron Bull. He rolls his hips up, for no reason, because there’s only air above him, and he squirms against the bonds again.

“Bull… _please_ ,” he gasps.

Mercy, at least it seems, as Bull leans up on his knees and starts manhandling him so that he’ll roll onto his front. It’s the easiest that was, they’ve learnt that. Bull is big, he’s too big, and sometimes Eifon still wonders how he fits, and thinks he’ll split open when he sees the sheer size of it.

But Iron Bull grumbles, “can’t deny my elf slut, can I?” And he tenses, and no no no, he doesn’t want to be nothing. He wants to be everything. There’s a rough slap on his hip. “Relax will you? I can’t fuck you if you don’t let me turn you over.”

He clenches his teeth, and settles on his elbows and knees and presses his forehead into his expensive pillows. Endures. He could say it, but he can’t. Bull has put him through more, and he’s let him, he’s not going to give in over a word. No.

Even as Bull grips his hips, even as he uses his thumbs to pull his ass cheeks apart and lines up the head of his slicked up cock against the pucker of his hole, and begins to press, and push, he endures.

He cries out, bites the pillow, splits open. “Fenedhis!” He grips his hands tightly, feels his nails in his palms, feels Bull push, feels his legs shaking.

“You’re tighter than usual elf,” Bull comments. His nails break the skin.

“Stop,” he rasps, mostly gone into the pillow, but Bull falters. But it’s not _the word_ , and the grip on his hips tightens and he presses. Rough, silk, skin on skin, ripping open, but so _good_ and _full_.

“You’re not the one in charge,” Bull growls at him, dangerous. He’s not playing the game right, he’s going to be punished. He wants it, but if it’s with that word he doesn’t want it.

“I know, I know I—“ He gasps, feels Bull’s hips against his, his voice is raw. He wants it, but he doesn’t want it.

“Then stay quiet like the good little elf that you are and _take it_ ,” Bull tells him. He drags his nails over his palms, tenses until Bull’s intrusion is painful and he wants nothing.

He is nothing. He doesn’t want to be nothing. He can’t be Bull’s good little elf if he hates him, he thinks Bull must hate him. He sniffles, wonders when he started crying, wonders if Bull can tell. He presses his face into the pillow.

He says the word, so quiet, so pressed into the pillow that it’s nothing just like he is. “K-Katoh, no more, stop, stop I can’t!” he cries, and everything stops.

It’s like time has ceased to exist. The Inquisition doesn’t exist, but the game doesn’t exist because he’s broken it and it’s stuck in some awful limbo.

And then Bull is gone and he feels empty, open, and the bonds are cut so quickly he can’t think he just curls in on himself and wonders if he’s going to disappear.

Then there are hands too big for him tugging at him, his shoulders, pulling him up and against a chest which is too big for him. He’s always too big for him. But he’s crying, and he’s cried in front of Bull before, but this is different because there’s no game to protect him. He covers his face, shakes his head, feels a too big hand come up and cover the side of his head and tug him closer. He rests his head on the chest which is too big for him and shakes.

“I don’t want to be nothing,” he whispers, his voice is too small, it’s gone away.

“Shhh,” Bull tells him. “You’re not nothing.”

He’s confused, he reaches for the hand against his head and holds it for dear life against his chest, feeling the callouses on his fingers. He’s aware, his erection is gone while Bull’s has yet to wane.

“I’m sorry…I…” He doesn’t know what he is.

“Hush Kadan, this is what the watchword is for, just breathe, relax, everything is fine,” Iron Bull tells him, but he shakes his head, he shakes, he hugs his arm like it’s a lifeline.

It’s just a word, he tells himself. He’s handled worse, he’s held life and death in his hands, and he cannot handle a word. He feels foolish, and wants to know why he is so foolish. Others have called him elf, so why?

“You’re not relaxing,” Bull tell him. He knows that, he’s too busy searching his brain for reasons and explanations. So many things roll off of his shoulders, but this is the thing which catches and pulls. _Why_? “Little elf…” Bull begins, but he grips his arm and clenches his teeth and Bull falls silent again.

In the silence, at some point, he must calm down because he stops shaking, and remembers how to breathe normally, the tears stop. He doesn’t want to be broken if Bull isn’t going to put him back together again, so he decides not to be broken. It’s just a word.

“Sorry, I uh,” he breaks the silence and it shatters. “That was silly, huh?” He looks up, to see that Bull is watching him, has been watching him and holding him in one piece. He has that soft look in his eye that makes Eifion want and afraid at the same time.

“It’s not silly,” Bull says.

He shifts, turns on The Iron Bull’s lap and faces him. “I just cried like a baby over a word, it’s pretty silly.” If he jokes then the pain goes away, like a salve over a wound.

“No. It’s not,” Bull insists. “What was it that made you say it?” But he knows, why is he asking? Bull knows everything, Ben-Hassrath training or something.

“You…” His throat closes, it doesn’t want him to say it, for Bull to realise if he doesn’t already know. Maybe it can be a secret.

“You have to tell me, I have to be sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“The word…” Eifion clenches his teeth, squirms and climbs until he’s off of The Iron Bull’s lap and sits on his bed. It’s soft, he still feels open and empty. Bull watches him. He starts at his feet, flexes his toes. “I’m an elf,” he says it, it’s true, his lips tug up.

“Yeah, you’re an elf,” Bull agrees, acts like it’s not a ridiculous statement and he doesn’t have telltale ears sticking out the sides of his head.

“Nobody likes elves,” he puts, sets the words down between them like he’s building something. “If you don’t like elves…”

He frowns. Bull shifts.

“Hey, I like elves just fine if you hadn’t noticed.” Is he insulted? Does he feel like he’s being accused of something?

Eifion looks up to a too big hand reaching to cup his cheek, and lips which are too hard meeting his which are too soft. He whimpers, feels the tears gathering up at the back of his throat again.

When the kiss is broken he says, “I don’t want you to hate me, I want you to _love_ me,” and he’s broken again.

“Shit,” Bull curses, pulls him back into his arms. He’s too solid. He feels like water being pulled against rock. “I do love you, you know that.” Did he know that?

“I want to be your little elf…I like that name you know, but…” He doesn’t want to be nothing.

“So I won’t call you ‘elf’ during our rougher play, got it.” Bull runs a too big finger over the shell of his ear. He shivers and lets his head fall against his too big chest. “But just because I’m playing rough doesn’t mean I suddenly hate you, Kadan.”

“I know that.” He _did_ know that. “But…”

“It’s alright, your head goes places, I’ll make sure to send you to the right one this time.” Bull is too good to him, gives him what he needs without taking. He feels foolish again.

They lie down on the bed, the bed which is much too big for him but too small when The Iron Bull shares it with him. He wonders why he doesn’t complain about it, but Bull doesn’t complain about much.

Bull’s hand wanders up and down his side as his head clears. He still feels empty, unfulfilled, but how does he ask for something that he so vehemently asked to stop not so long ago?

When he reaches for Bull’s now soft cock, which is still bigger than his even erect, Bull’s too big hand intercepts him. “Don’t push yourself, Kadan,” he says.

Eifion sighs, retracts his hand, presses it against Bull’s chest. “I feel…” How does he say words he would never say to anyone? He shifts closer, kisses Bull’s sternum, hears and feels him huff softly. “I feel empty...if we could…” he mutters, trails off because there’s too many words he can’t say.

Bull shifts, a hand settles on his hip. “Are you sure? We don’t have to do _anything_ if you don’t want to.”

“There’s nothing like having The Bull’s cock up your ass for all of ten seconds and then having it gone,” he says, squirming and feeling open.

Bull chuckles, sees his joke to cover the pain, sees the salve on the open wound. He doesn’t even know how the wound got there. They roll, Bull on top of him again and facing him.

“Alright,” Bull says, voice silk and rough. He’s still impressed by how quickly he can get aroused, feeling the weight of his too big cock on his stomach. “Then, just lay back and relax.” The command is soft, there’s no punishment if he gets it wrong. He likes it.

And then Bull lifts one of his legs over his shoulder and he’s bent in half, and pushes in. He cries out, gripping the blankets and one of Bull’s horns, fighting between running because he’s _so_ full, and trying to meet Bull’s shallow thrusts.

And then he feels Bull’s hips against his own, and he’s complete again. And then The Iron Bull touches him, molds him, and puts him back together again.

“I love you,” he gasps, feeling too much of everything.

“I love you too, Kadan,” Bull mutters back huskily. And he _did_ know that, he thinks, falling back into his too soft bed as Bull gently pulls him into oblivion. _  
_


End file.
